Canta Per Me
by Nadiya d'Espaigni
Summary: This story takes place in late 1930's Rome, Italy. Young Lovino Vargas has landed the lead in L'Opera Fantastico's upcoming production of Pagliacci. And upon a drunken night, stumbles upon immigrant worker Antonio Carriedo, whom may not be who he appears. Lovino learns of war, sacrifice, and the overall prospect of romance in this multi-chapter fan fiction. OG
1. Chapter 1

_Early Spring; Rome,Italy; 1939_

"Canta per me."_..sing for me. _A request Lovino heard often. The stage was vast silence and candelabras, occupied only by flickering flame and the prospect of a purpose. He nodded towards the composer, subtlety, his harsh tone obscured by the glamour of it all.

"From the aria, then?" he spoke.

"Of course."

He had no room to refuse. The maestro wound up the pit, an inclusive stroke of his hand,and they had filled the empty hall with life once again. Lovino sucked in a large breath, and let the music carry him away with the silence.

"Recitar! Mentre preso dal delirio..", _Act! While in delirium._

"Non so più quel che dico..", _I no longer know what I say._

"E quel che faccio!..",_ or what I do!_

"Eppur è d'uopo, sforzati!..", _and yet it's necessary...make an effort!_

"Bah! Sei tu forse un uom?.."_, bah! Are you not a man?_

"Tu se' Pagliaccio!.."_, you are a clown!_

His voice was abounding. Broad and defiant through its tenor vibrato. He sparked fire, rang in every inch of the balconies and rattled the very plaster. Lovino, was not only a voice that needed to be heard, he was a performer to entertain. He dictated the stage, commanding the sole attention of every member of the audience, even if it was just one.

"Vesti la giubba..", _put on your costume._

"E la faccia infarina..", _powder your face._

"La gente paga, e rider vuole qua..", _the people pay to be here, and they want to laugh._

"E se Arlecchin t'invola Colombina..", _and if Harlequin shall steal your Columbina._

"Ridi, Pagliaccio, e ognun applaudirà!..", _laugh,clown,so the crowd will cheer!_

"Tramuta in lazzi lo spasmo ed il pianto..", _turn your distress and tears into jest!_

"In una smorfia il singhiozzo e 'l dolor, Ah!..", _your pain and sobbing into a funny face-Ah!_

He not only sung with his voice, but he used his body to further paint the portrait. He waved his hands with dynamic flourish, his expression always jesting, teasing the crowd with his amber hued orbs. A fools mask over his normally antagonistic expression. His chest was swollen,he was a rooster with brilliant feathers. His range fell and rose with the swells of music. Held notes hanging in the air and then dying in a they continued rising, and falling, like the waves upon the sea. He was _Pagliaccio_, the melancholic jester.

"Ridi, Pagliaccio..", _laugh, clown._

"Sul tuo amore infranto!..", _at your broken love!_

"Ridi del duol, che t'avvelena il cor!..", _laugh at the grief that poisons your heart!_

Lovino fell to his knees, his voice slipping into muffled sobs of a lover's delusion. The music slowly began to fall away from him, and he reached to grapple every lingering note. He obscured the line between tears and delirious laughter. But alas, the music faded with the cello, and so his performance had come to a close in company with it. He rose,straightening his suit and dusting the grime from the knees of his pants. His jesters mask removed to make way for that same sour expression. He put his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.

"So?" he bluntly asked the Impresario. Lovino didn't appreciate games, and he had discovered during his career that the Opera scene was entirely made of games. Games between actors, divas, back-alley directors and cheap voices looking for whatever the had to suck to get a piece of the spotlight. The Impresario scoffed, pulling his pocket watch from the inside of his jacket, checking the time he didn't have.

"Signore Vargas, we would love to have you in our Spring show. There are dormitories here in the house if you prefer..."

"I do." He interrupted. "I prefer a secluded room." he added bluntly.

"Ah, yes, for your after-hours activities I presume. You singers are all the same." The man sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow."Alright, I can offer you the appropriate accommodations if your willing to sign a contract for our Spring season." He glanced at Lovino through his thick lenses.

"Deal." he replied.

In truth, Lovino had gotten the better end of the contract. More than adequate pay, a personal driver, and a secluded room down from the rest of the actors dormitories. Although the Impresario had been wrong in his intentions. His room was not solely for the purpose of midnight passions, but rather the prospect of a moment of peace between the drama that haunted the L'Opera Fantastico. But still, his sour expression held no joy to him. In truth, he was entirely too young to already be holding the title _primo uomo_. He was the modest age of 19. Although, his age had held no restrictions on his talent. He had been a slave to the stage since the tender year of 9, working as a backstage rat. Rigging the ropes and running errands, spying on practice and learning every hidden door and unknown crevice that could be used at his disposal. But he was a child then,now he was a man, predisposed to leave his humble beginnings behind in search of something singular.

The paperwork was signed, and Lovino had gone drinking with a few of the cast members. From what he could tell, they were all significantly older than him, already calling him "bambino". He hated it. They occupied a corner of the bar, drowning themselves in extravagant wines at the expense of L'Opera Fantastico. The wine made him sloppy, and already he had stumbled over the rug and knocked a glass from the table. But he was nothing compared to the others. His leading lady was a lush. A well-rounded woman who threw herself at any admiring glance. He had heard of her, an old singer who was well into her thirties. Signora Constantina De Luca was her name. She chatted obnoxiously with everyone there, demanding ridiculous things like fresh flowers on their table or an attendant to fan her. He had made the mistake of paying her no mind all evening.

"Ah, Lovi bambino why are you so quiet? C'mon how can I get you to talk me, huh?" she teased. Her lips painted crimson, face caked with unnecessary makeup. Lovino thought she may have been rather attractive in her prime, but she was long past time for plucking. He snorted at her, rolling his amber eyes as he took another sip of wine, holding the glass for her to see when he was finished. "Signora, I would rather drown myself in this glass than let you delight in a conversation with me." he retorted. She was aghast. Lovino thought the look on her face was priceless, jaw slack like a dead fish. She did not find it so amusing. She took his relishing moment and turned it right back around on him. She was in his face within seconds, practically crawling on top of him, her nails digging into his chest as she pointed a manicured finger at him.

"Bastard! No one speaks to me that way!" Her sudden pounce sent his wine toppling from it's glass, splashing all over his fine suit.

"Hag!" he cursed."Get off of me you petulant cow!" he shoved her away.

She descended rather ungracefully towards the floor, landing with a sharp thud. True to form, Lovino had been colorful in his choice of language. "Pardon me." he excused himself from the other singers, leaving Signora De Luca on the floor in a tizzy.

"Argh, damn woman." he blasted her under his breath. The attendant had seen to fetching his car while he attempted to remove the stain with the wash-cloth in the sink, but to no avail. He eventually gave up, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. God damn _prima donnas, _always finding ways to ruin everyone's lives and make them all miserable. The attendant had returned with a promising word, at least his car was ready for him. He stumbled from the back entrance,not wanting to cause much more of a scene than he already had. He threw himself in the backseat, the car pulling away from the curb in a rumble.

When he arrived back at the opera house, he was still staggeringly drunk. In his stupor, he had managed to fall twice going up the flights of stairs that led to the dormitories. He was only halfway up when he heard workers chatter trailing up the stairs behind him. He attempted to bolt to the next step, but created an even larger ruckus by sliding backwards five steps.

"Hey, you need some help?" asked a voice behind him.

"No." He snapped back, not bothering with a backwards glance. His sharp response was quickly followed by the sound of slight laughter, and the chatting among a few people whose voices he couldn't place. Lovino just laid sprawled on the steps, not caring about how sloppily his demeanor was or the wine-stain on his shirt.

"Alright, ciao guys. See you tomorrow, yeah?" said the voice who had engaged him in the first place. Lovino noticed the voice, obviously a male,spoke sloppy Italian. His accent was off and he lacked that certain Italian swagger everyone native had. He felt an arm hook underneath his, his other draping across the strangers neck. He groaned slightly, and he could feel the stranger gently shake with laughter.

"Been drinking?"he teased.

Lovino pouted, gripping the railing. "I don't have to answer to you, ass." he retorted.

"Ah, the rebellious type. Probably one of the new singers, si?" Again, that sloppy Italian was nails on a chalkboard to Lovino's ears. But, in light of his alcoholic misfortunes, and this strangers generosity to at least help him up the stairs, he figured he may as well be as kind as any drunk would be.

"Yeah.."he replied sloppily as the man practically drug him up the steps. He hadn't gotten a look at his face, but rather felt how he may have looked with the lights illumination. He was quite muscular if he was able to handle someone of Lovino's size, and in a way he smelt of sea salt, freshly cut wood and a spice which Lovino could not place. His brain was drowning in wine.

They reached the top of the flights, where the candles were still lit for his fellow performers late-night promiscuity, and Lovino propped himself against the a sideways peek he saw his assistant at full value. He was striking. Olive-skinned, and well toned even though his baggy shirt and loose short-pants. His newsboy cap obstructed what looked like shaggy, curly brown-locks. But the real gem was in his eyes, a captivating pair of emeralds that pierced Lovino somewhere nothing else ever had before. He didn't know if it was the wine working it's magic, but for the first time in good while Lovino had nothing to say. His mouth simply motioned, and nothing but harsh air escaped them.

"What is it, are you gonna puke Signor?"the man asked.

"No, you idiot. Just give me a minute."Lovino replied harshly.

The man sighed, propping against the wall beside him, but instead of standing, he slid down the floral wallpaper and sat with his elbows on his knees. Lovino followed suit, leaning his head against the wall. They sat in silence for what seemed forever, but in truth was only roughly ten minutes. Until the man felt the need to break it.

"Antonio." he said.

"What?"Lovino asked, slightly annoyed. He cocked his head in the mans direction, and was slightly peeved that even his profile was attractive. Just as the thought crossed his mind, the man turned towards him, those emeralds sparkling even in the dimly lit corridor.

"Antonio. My name is Antonio Carriedo." He held out his right hand, waiting for Lovino to respond. But instead he stared at him for a few moments, soaking it in. ._Antonio Carriedo._ He would be sure to remember that.

"Oh, uh. Lovino. Lovino Vargas." He offered up his name, and his right hand to Antonio's. The contact was brief, only a few moments but Lovino felt the roughness of Antonio's palm against his own. _He must work hard_, he thought.

"Lovino Vargas, huh? Your the new _primo uomo_ they hired?"Antonio asked with a chuckle, slapping his knee in the process. "You're a little scrawny to be some big important singer!" he teased. He received a quick jab to the ribs from Lovino's elbow.

"Watch it,Bastard!"Lovino warned, quickly followed by Antonio's muffled laughter.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Antonio jested, his hand covering his mouth to try and muffle what he could, although it was impossible. His laughter carried. That laughter was awarded with another jab to his ribs.

"Ow." he complained.

"Then stop making so much damn noise." Lovino replied. He had a headache from all the wine, and not to mention the added foul mood he received from the Signora De Luca herself. But, this man had managed to at least get more than five words from him, and that was impressive. They sat momentarily, before Antonio sighed and made a move to stand. He dusted the seat of his pants, then offering another helping hand to Lovino. Lovino took it, and rose to his feet.

"So which room is yours?" he asked.

"I'm down this side hall, and down the steps. Only door." Lovino replied sleepily, stifling a yawn.

"Oh, special treatment,si?" Antonio teased. "Think you can make it without falling?"

Lovino nodded, ruffling his own hair in a half tired half drunk stupor.

"Alright then, try not to drink so much next time. Ciao." He turned to leave, and Lovino looked on in silence. Was he supposed to thank him?Say some kind of parting word or let this man walk away without saying anything? He reached out, and caught him by the sleeve.

"Hey."

Antonio turned, "Yeah?"

"You didn't have to help me up the stairs."Lovino said bluntly. It was a simple enough statement, but made all the more complex by who they were. Lovino was a star,the attraction the lured in fat wallets. Antonio was a grunt worker, used for nothing more than his youth and strength. In no other circumstance would they have crossed paths in such a personal setting. Antonio would work in the underbelly of the opera house, and Lovino would entertain the masses. They were two entirely separate beings.

"So?" Antonio asked puzzled.

"So why did you?" Lovino pressed.

Antonio smiled slightly, a little half-cocked grin. He sighed, taking off his cap and ruffling his already messy brown hair. "I don't know. You looked a little helpless on the stairs I suppose." He shot his emerald eyes back up at him from underneath thick lashes, that grin still pasted on his sly mug.

_Helpless? _Lovino thought. He pouted, noticing he was still gripping his sleeve, he promptly let go, his arm dangling by his side. His fingers began to feel cold, devoid of the warmth radiating from the man across from him._ Did I not want to let go?_ A question that would drive the young singer mad. But instead, he stayed true to that sparkling personality of his.

"Whatever." He scoffed,rolling his golden orbs.

"Don't make too much noise on your way down." at least some form of thank you on his part, Lovino thought. It was best no one knew the young worker had been up here in the actors dormitories. On that note, Lovino left him there, not a backwards glance. He didn't even wait to hear him descend the staircases, Lovino was already at his door, fishing for the key the Impresario had given him earlier in the opened his door to darkness, the only light flooding through the window was from the lantern-strung streets still harboring late-night drinkers. It was enough to undress by. He threw his clothes in a heap, the wine stain far from his thoughts. He tugged back the blankets, flopping his head onto the feather-filled pillows. Lovino gazed at his tiled ceiling for a long time, about an hour he supposed. But he finally did drift into a fitful sleep, plagued by sea-salt and pools of endless green.


	2. Chapter 2

**Song(s)Mentioned:All of me as prefromed by Ruth Etting (1931)**

* * *

_Mid Spring; Rome,Italy;1939_

Days bleed into weeks, obscuring one into the other. The air around Rome grew fresher, the streets teeming with new found life, even under the black skies Mussolini had brought them, people were still willing to treasure succulent spring days. Lovino had made it a point to escape the confines of the opera house on days such as these, if at least to avoid the budding drama that seemed to sprout the closer they got to opening night. He strolled the cobblestone walkways, stopping at a cafe to read the newspaper and perhaps drink a glass of wine or maybe the whole bottle. He wasn't quite sure yet. He really didn't know why he read the newspaper anymore. All it told him was what the government wanted everyone to believe, not what was necessarily the truth. But regardless, the Albanian invasion decorated the front page with fruitful hopes of victory. General Guzzoni was winning, that's all they felt the Italian people needed to know. Lovino snorted, rustling the papers to look at more worth while things, such as new and upcoming films. He took a cigarette from his pocket, inhaling the sweet tobacco before letting out a long sigh.

There was once a time where Lovino had dreams of joining the military. He was young, and awestruck at the prospect of becoming a "hero", as his Grandfather had put it. His Grandfather was an army man, one of the best so he told them. Lovino and his brother grew up force-fed stories of brave battalions and of course their Grandfather's valiant efforts and his tide-turning expeditions. Lovino always knew most of it was a load, but the way his grandfather told the stories with a fire in his eye struck a chord with Lovino deep inside his heart. He wanted that same fire. He wanted something that would set him apart,make him special.

His romanticized ideas of the Military faded away at the new prospect of becoming a name immortalized by bright lights. He had become infatuated with the theater since his grandfather had taken them to see a small-budget production of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet when he and Feliciano were seven. Feliciano had grown bored within the first few minutes, sleeping one minute and whining the next in typical fashion. But, to his Grandfathers surprise, Lovino was quite attentive, entranced by the tragic story and captivating drama. It from then on that he spent his summers at the theater, painting sets or running errands, attending to actors or managing the ropes high in the catwalk. It wasn't until his second summer there when he heard opera for the first time. Being a small-scale town theater, they couldn't afford a full production, instead they hired a single performer to sing a set for a number of nights. He couldn't remember her name, but knew exactly how she had made him feel. She was a soprano, trilling high other worldly notes only heaven could reach. She was performing _Habanera_, the aria famous of a famous Spanish opera ,of course Lovino hadn't known at the time. She was full of emotion, weaving a colorful tapestry with only her voice. _Only her voice? _ Lovino was stunned. This woman had captivated the audience without doing anything but singing a pretty song. _How unfair_, he thought. How unfair it was that he had to work for any attention he received and some people just had to breathe beautifully to get attention. His mind was made up from there. Lovino Vargas would become an opera singer. Signed an sealed.

His family hadn't taken too kindly to that. While his Grandfather "appreciated his interest in the arts", he found no reason Lovino should give up his comfortable country life and steady bakers income to pursue something so trivial. Lovino grew up in the odd shadow of his twin brother. They were only separated by seconds, but in contrast they were as different as night and day. Feliciano was the likeable one, ludicrously charming and pleasing to look at. He always had a way of growing on people, so much so that Lovino was often forgotten in the process. It wasn't that Lovino resented his brother, Feliciano was oblivious of everything, it's that he despised himself for not being "good" enough. But he was the older of the two, and in spite of his shortcomings looked after his brother fiercely until he left their country home at the age of fifteen. He had hitch hiked to Rome on the back of merchant carts and gypsy wagons, working odd jobs in restaurants and markets until he could afford some type of coaching. He was lucky enough to have a naturally good voice, it was another thing entirely to have an operatic voice. But with the help of his Professore, he cleaned the rough edges and began auditioning for productions. His first notable performance was as a simple extra in a small opera house's production of _Il Barbiere di Siviglia. _After people had heard him sing, he had jobs left and right, small roles, but progress nonetheless. It wasn't until his most recent audition for L'Opera Fantastico's _Pagliacci_ that he finally scored a lead role.

He exchanged letters with his family often. He caught up on weddings, anniversaries and the deaths and births that circulated throughout the townsfolk. Most importantly he learned of his brothers fortune as the new head chef at their families bakery. That sounded about right. Given any decision in the world, Feliciano would choose food every time.

He folded the newspaper, the waiter pouring him another bottle of Merlot. _Since when did I become a drunk? _He mused, taking a tender sip of the chilled liquid. He had arrived at the small cafe at around six that evening, lingering long enough for the warm afternoon to slip quietly into the usual evening bustle. Rome really was a city to see by night. It was charmingly lit by lanterns and strings of lights through back alleys and cobblestone streets. You could go dancing, eat some delicious food at a hole-in-the-wall, or even listen to the seductive swing of local street musicians. Lovino had fallen for the city's ancient charms and rich culture. But the air had become heavy nowadays. The Carabineri was out and about during the evening hours, thwarting the Resistenza they claimed corrupted the integrity of the Italian regime. _Italian regime_, Lovino could have laughed. it was no more Italian than his Greek cousins. But it was always better to stay out of the Carabineri's eye and go about one's business. Lovino finished his glass,leaving his paper and still burning cigarette on the table. He rolled the newspaper under his arm, paying his waiter; he left the small corner cafe.

It was disheartening to see those black-jacketed puppets on every street corner. It made people feel more like their government was against them rather than for them, a bad morale to have during wartime. Black was a fitting color for them though, a color fitting of despair and desolation. Lovino sighed, wishing he hadn't left his cigarette on the table. He strolled a few blocks before searching for the rolled release in his pocket once again, and found it. He stopped momentarily, trying to search for his book of trusty matches.

"Shit." he exclaimed. _Must have left them on the table. _He sighed begrudgingly before sweeping his eyes across the dim-lit sidewalk. He saw a man walking away, in a slick looking suit and a fedora doting his head. Lovino jogged up to him, hoping to borrow a match.

"Excuse me Signor, but do you have a light? I left mi-" His words were dismantled by two emeralds burning holes right through his soul. The stranger had turned, and was actually no stranger at all, but the supposed grunt worker Antonio, who was supposedly poor and would never have the means to afford clothes as expensive as the ones he was wearing.

"Antonio?" Lovino asked, confused and curious as to why he would be walking around the streets this late a night and looking as sharp as he did.

Antonio was equally surprised. He jerked Lovino by the sleeve, a hand swiftly covering his mouth. The cigarette fell from his hand, becoming smashed under one of their feet as Antonio drug him into a side alley. They made little noise, besides the obvious struggle sounds of scraping stone and ruffled fabric, but the Carabineri's head swiveled in their direction, Antonio had seen him heading their way. He pulled Lovino behind a pile of crates.

"Get down, and stay quiet." he said harshly.

Lovino had never heard him talk like that before. _He kind of liked it_. No wait, he didn't like it! Antonio hovered over him, kneeling in close to conceal them as best he could. _God he smells good._ This time like honey and burnt apple wood. _What am I doing? _Lovino thought. This man was too close to him, and Lovino could feel himself becoming short of breath.

"Hey! Ge-" Lovino was quickly silenced, Antonio's palm clasping once again over his mouth._ His hands are so rough._ Antonio shot him a sharp look, silently scolding him. Lovino was quiet, and a little afraid despite himself. A flashlight turned on, sweeping across the darkness they hoped would conceal them. He felt Antonio tense against him, crouching down. His messy brown hair brushed against Lovino's cheek. _His hair is really soft too. God!_ What was he thinking? His breath hitched in his throat when the man inched closer into him, pressing him roughly into the brickwork wall, farther into the shadows behind the crates. He could practically feel the warmth of the man's breath on his cheek, Lovino's hair swaying with each inhale and exhale Antonio made. They stayed that way for what was only moments, but felt like years. Suspended there, completely still, nothing moving except the flow of their breath and rolling of their sweat. Seconds pass, and they hear the retreating footsteps of the military policeman, Lovino waits for a sign. He gets it when Antonio relaxes, his muscles softening themselves with a relieved sigh. That's all the sign Lovino needed.

"Get off me!"

He drew back and punched Antonio square in the nose.

He could feel the warmth of blood spread across his fist, feel the weight of the man being thrown off of him. He pushed him towards the opposite wall with a well placed kick to the stomach. Antonio was doubled over, and delighted both at the same time. Lovino hated him.

"I suppose I deserve that, but don't you know not to kick a man while he's down?" he said, accompanied with his usual mild laughter. Lovino was enraged, his teeth gritting and fist balling in preparation for another blow. He would beat this man to death if he got the chance.

"You Bastard! Who even are you?!"Lovino snapped. It was a valid question._ Who is this man?_ Someone who should barley be able to afford the clothes on his back. Someone who strolled leisurely through streets like they were his own. Someone who laughed at being punched in the nose, bleeding profusely onto said fine Italian made suit.

"What's your game?"Lovino pressed, his ears hot with anger. He demanded answers.

Antonio smiled slightly, holding his nose with a kerchief. The man looked as if he had committed murder, blood stained all over the front of his white silken shirt. It had become slightly open with the roughhousing,and Lovino could see his olive-skinned chest shimmering with sweat and the fresh blood that was dripping down his chin. Why was he so irritatingly attractive?

"What game? I'm just a stagehand, Lovino." Antonio said in that horrible accent. He hated the way he said his name in that off-kilter Italian of his. The way he drawled on the final syllable,_ like he wanted to cling to it._ What was wrong with him tonight? He didn't want that man clinging to any part of him, especially his name. _But I bet it would feel nice. _He thought, cursing himself for doing so.

"You're a liar." he said bluntly. Lovino didn't like to play games. He wasn't in the mood. The Spaniard chuckled, removing the kerchief from his nose, deciding it was safe to do so. He dusted his shirt of the footprint Lovino put there. His eyes drew a gaze on Lovino, that playful spark still embedded deep within them.

"Lovino." he reached for him then, a hand sprawling forward in the darkness.

Lovino pressed himself against the wall, scrambling to his feet.

"Don't touch me." he warned, his voice shaking. He staggered to get up, stumbling only a few paces, throwing himself away from the wall, before he settled into a full out sprint. He had to get away from that,from him,from whatever it was that had happened. He didn't stop running until he was almost four blocks over, falling against an empty chicken cage. He panted, before his jaw set and he once again remembered how angry he was. He looked at his palm, seeing the dried blood rubbing off in flakes. He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of everything that had transpired, but he couldn't. He shook with adrenaline. The wall felt his anger in the form of his fist, a light blow at first. But the more he couldn't make up or down, the angrier he became. He through the cage onto the alley floor, kicked holes into the wooden crate beneath it until it was almost unrecognizable. A pile of broken wood. He slid down, plopping onto the wet, dirty cobblestone street. He stayed that way for a good while, collecting his thoughts,coming up with a good excuse for his disheveled appearance,and crying silently out of pure frustration. Angry tears rolling down his face and no one was there to hear them.

- - – -

Days passed. He had seen Antonio around the opera house. Fixing a prop, or drawing the curtains, things he normally did. Things Lovino wouldn't have paid attention to had it not been for their back alley encounter. They had not spoken a word to each other or exchanged glances since then. Antonio was once again dressed in his poor-mans garb. His brown short pants, a white button-up shirt,sleeves rolled up to expose his well-toned forearm, Suspenders over his shoulders, and that newsboy cap covering his curly brown tresses. A slight bruise also adorned his nose, and each time Lovino saw it he would smile a little smugly. Antonio was a far cry from the lush gentleman he thought he would borrow a light from on the street. But he still had that same playful expression. Laughing amongst the other workers, exchanging jokes, smiling at everyone. _Damn, he was irritating. _A thought that crossed Lovino's mind often nowadays. Though he always found himself watching him. He watched him work, watched him laugh. _I like the way he laughs._ No, stop it. He hated the way he laughs. The deep rich sound that carried throughout the whole room. What was happening to him?

Rehearsals were going badly. Lovino found himself uninspired and distracted. It was trouble enough attempting to work with Signora De Luca, now he had to battle the thoughts circulating his mind as well. The Impresario was growing impatient with all of them. He had Lovino staying late for extra rehearsals, going over and over his role-winning aria to the point he thought his vocal chords would burst. He had strict orders. Eat, sleep, practice, and rest his voice. He honestly had no problem with any of those things. He was up one particular night, on stage all alone, reciting his lines in that booming voice of his. No longer was he Lovino, the second he inhaled he was Pagliaccio.

"Put on your makeup."

"Powder your face."

He had felt more and more like Pagliaccio even when he was off the stage nowadays. More and more like the melancholic jester who hid his pain with a smile. Not that Lovino was in pain, he was simply blatantly confused. Bewildered by a green-eyed Spaniard who plagued his dreams and haunted his thoughts. He wanted so desperately to know, what exactly had happened back there? He was a key piece, and even he hadn't fully understood everything that went on. The only venting Lovino even remotely did was through his music. The audacity of his voice cleared his mind, so he welcomed the extra practice with open arms. He finished his aria with added flourish, a little "umf" to add an exclamation point to the whole thing. He was feeling quite proud of himself._ I'll have to sing it just like that tomorrow for the Impresario._ He wiped his neck of sweat, cracking the joints in the process. His wooden-soled shoes echoed throughout the theater as he trapped across the stage, searching for his glass of water and towel. That's when the claps started, slow at first, then repeating in rapid succession. He sighed, speaking as he turned. "This is a close practice, so please lea-"

And then he saw who it was. None other than the irritating Spaniard himself, that charming smile on his face, eyes ablaze with emerald fire.

"What the hell are you doing here." Lovino asked.

"Am I not allowed to listen?" he questioned.

"No." Lovino replied bluntly. The silence hung in the air. Antonio dropped his hands and placed them in his pockets, looking down momentarily, tapping to point of his toe on the wooden stage. Click, click,click.

"Look Lovino I wanted to apologi-"

"Fuck you."

The air was again stagnant, broken only by Antonio's slight sigh in company with an amused smile. He stepped closer to Lovino, using his hands to better convey his point.

"I only wanted to ask.."he paused to gauge Lovino's actions, it seemed he was listening."If you wanted to go to a party?"

Lovino was wary, but couldn't deny the fire that ignited within him at the word "party."

"What party?"Lovino asked.

Antonio grinned devilishly. Running to grab Lovino by the sleeve, he drug him from the stage. His glass toppled, shattering, leaving shards of glass everywhere and a pool of water in the center of the stage. Candles still burning, the curtain was still open, devoid of anything but crippling emptiness and the faint sound of footsteps descending the stairs.

Lovino was being drug by the hand through rooms he never knew existed and hallways he never would have come across otherwise. The feel of Antonio's rough palm against his own, their fingers holding tightly to one another , it was enough to cause his heart to jump out of his chest. Damn, he couldn't decide if he hated the man or not. But what he was feeling couldn't have been,_something_, could it? It frightened him, confounded him. He had never felt this way for anyone before, the only thing he could remotely relate it to was the feeling that swelled in his chest when he sang. It was an adventure, a nerve rattling discovery of a part of himself he never knew he had. It may have been foreign and terrifying, but it was all the more exhilarating at the same time.

Antonio would turn to look at him every so often, blinking those green eyes at him, making sure he was still there. Lovino thought that was stupid. As if it wasn't obvious he was still here by the way Antonio's hand gripped his. Lovino's eyes rolled each time he did so, but when he would look away, a small smiled adorned his lips._ I like the way he looks at me._

"Where are you taking me?" Lovino would ask.

"You'll see." was always the reply.

They arrived to a door, a slit towards the top. Shadows danced through the gap at the bottom, illuminated by the light inside. He could hear fast-paced music from the other-room, and his heart began to quicken with the beat of it. Antonio knocked on the door four times fast, and then another slow three knocks. Seven total. The small slit slid open, and the were met by a pair of muddy brown eyes."Password." a rough voice demanded.

"Tomato." Antonio replied swiftly. _Tomato? What an idiotic password._ They heard a few bolts unlock, and the spectacle that unfolded brought Lovino's annoyed demeanor to a close. The place was packed full of people, dancing to the music sounding form a small radio on a stool in the center of the room. The music was full of thump and swing, bit it was a tune Lovino didn't recognize. He looked at Antonio, who waved his arm for him to go on in. Lovino was hesitant,and then the Spaniard shoved him in. Dancing abruptly stopped, eyes were quick to condescend upon him.

"What's he doing here." someone asked? Hostility threatening to spill over their words.

"He's here with me."Antonio's arm draped itself around Lovino's shoulders, and Lovino swallowed hard. He was sure everyone had heard him. But nobody seemed to notice, and nobody questioned what Antonio had said. They all seemed to shrug him off and continue with their fun and games. Lovino quickly removed himself from Antonio's hold, finding an unoccupied corner, and stayed there for the remainder of the evening. A performer he may have been, but a dancer he was not. Instead he drew satisfaction, and a hint of jealousy, from watching Antonio dance with the women in the room. He was a natural dancer, it was obvious. He knew when to dip, when to spin, when to shuffle and knew exactly the pace to go. Even with women who weren't nearly as skilled he was, he was courteous. _Go figure_..Lovino thought. It was apparent the stereotype that Spaniards could dance was true after all. Lovino had received a few dance offers himself, refusing of course. Each time Antonio would frown, watching his attempt to get Lovino on the dance floor fail right before his eyes. Lovino caught his eyes only once, a smug grin on his face. Antonio stuck his tongue out at him. _What a child. _

Hours passed, the music remained, and slowly the dance floor thinned until there were only a handful of people left. They were all quite chatty,talking to Antonio in what Lovino figured was Spanish. His Spanish was muddled. He had sung in it before, but only memorized words on a page rather than the meanings behind them. He was lost in translation. His only companion the still playing radio. But, it seemed the rest of the people were leaving, hurried goodbyes and waves. The door clicked shut. They were alone, frighteningly alone.

"Don't stick your tongue out at me again." Lovino stated, crossing his arms. Antonio chuckled.

"Why? What were you gonna' do bite it off?" he asked.

"Don't tempt me."Lovino stated, his annoyance clear as day on his face._ What am I saying? _He wasn't going anywhere near that man's tongue. Yet, Antonio seemed utterly elated at the prospect of getting it bitten off. _What an idiot. _

A song he recognized came onto the radio,and in English of all things. His English was basic, but he could carry conversation. The emerald hues across the room lit up brightly, before softening and settling back on Lovino. Lovino was pinned in place by a pair of eyes alone and that frustrated him to no end. Antonio strolled across the room,keeping perfect contact the entire length, extending his hand.

"Would you like to dance?"

And without realizing Lovino had taken it. His heart was beating so fast he thought it would burst, but what bothered him the most is that it was this man that was doing this to him. He regretted ever falling down the stairs.

The song was soft and slow, a charming female's voice protruding from the other side of the speakers. Antonio picked up on Lovino's inability to dance, and he accommodated for it. You couldn't call what they were doing dancing, it was more of a rhythmic sway. Antonio had taken the liberty of pulling Lovino's arms around his neck, adjusting his own by placing them around Lovino's waist. _He's too close again. _ Antonio rested his head against his shoulder, and he could feel his hot breath scraping against his neck. Every hair on his body was on edge. _You have to get a hold of yourself._ Lovino shook his head momentarily, his chin finally resting on Antonio's shoulder-blade. He calmed himself the only way he knew how, by singing.

"_All of me. Why not take all of me?" _His voice was nothing but a whisper.

"_Can't you see, I'm no good without you." _But this feeling in his chest, he couldn't get rid of it.

Antonio laughed a little at his thick Italian accent, you could barley understand the words. He was rewarded with a quick pinch to his neck, Lovino could feel him grinning into his shoulder. He continued in his shaky tenor:

"_Take my lips, I want to loose them." _His voice was timid.

"_Take my arms, I'll never use them." _A ghost of the boisterous sound that resonated music halls.

"_Your goodbye,left me with eyes that cried." _But he still felt that fire, somewhere he couldn't place.

"_How can I, go on dear without you?" _He felt it swell in his chest.

"_You took the part that once was my heart." _This was it.

"_So why not me take all of me?" _This was the something he was looking for.

He could feel Antonio tighten around his waist as they continued to sway. Lovino had stopped singing, and instead closed his amber eyes to relish in his discovery. They stayed that way until the music faded, the radio quieting for only a moment before a fast-paced mambo replaced the silence. They were completely still, until Lovino dropped his arms to his sides, balling his fists. Antonio slowly released his grip, but Lovino didn't move away from him.

"I like it when you sing. But I like it best when you sing for me." Antonio confessed, his tone soft, devoid of it's usual playful vibe.

"I don't understand." Lovino stated. Meeting those emerald eyes that tortured him so.

"I don't understand who you are, or what you are. I don't understand any-"

He was abruptly cut off, but this time not by a rough palm, but by a gentle, soft pair of lips. Lovino had been kissed before. As a child he had kissed the neighbors daughter in the olive field, but this was different. This was something brilliantly different. It was the sensation of discovering a new taste, a sensual explosion of divine flavor enveloping every inch of your very soul. Antonio tasted like kiwis. Which was strange, Lovino had imagined his taste to be quite earthy instead of tropical and somewhat refreshing. Not that he had thought about it. Lovino felt Antonio's hands grip his shoulders, pulling him in a little closer as to get a better grip on his lips. Their lips stayed, simply touching. A small, tenderhearted kiss fit for childhood sweethearts, not two grown adult men._ But this is nice_, Lovino thought. _This is very nice,indeed._

_**To be continued...**_


	3. Chapter 3

_Mid Spring; Rome, Italy; 1939_

Their bodies became suspended within the flow of rhythm and beat. A soft voice tauntingly drawing them back from whatever heaven they were trespassing in. The radio faltered, fuzz and static ruining the Nirvana they had built between their soft lips. Antonio backed away first,lips pursing in hidden frustration. His rough working hands squeezing the young Italian's shoulders before letting them go in some sort of surrender. Lovino was left searching, devoid of the warmth that had filled him so. He was only let down for a moment, before he regained that classically antagonistic demeanor. His hand came up quick as ever, pushing the Spaniard away with only the very tips of his fingers. He was afraid to touch him again, afraid to have him that close. _But I liked it._ No, he didn't like it. Antonio was a man; an irritatingly attractive man. Lovino was a man; a bitter, lonely, poor excuse of man. This was frightening him somewhere he never knew existed. But it absolutely charmed and enthralled him at the same time. It was terror and acceptance rolled into one envelopment. _When did I get this pathetic?_

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, enmity fogging his gaze.

Antonio stepped back, his lips still pursed into a thin line. He let a hand scrape across his scalp, tousling his already messy hair with a deep exhale in the process. His eyes stayed on the floor, not daring to stray into Lovino's own.

"Lovino. I.." Antonio swallowed his words with a heavy gulp. He sighed once again, moving his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Lovino had never seen him this way before. He had known this man for only weeks but had never seen his cheerful disposition falter in such a way. Frustration boiled in his soul.

"Lovino. This.." Antonio gestured, swooping his arms back and forth between them, "was a mistake." He said it so matter of factually, so absolute and written in stone. But his gaze stayed to the floor, not playful or cunning or filled with that usual spark that Lovino had come to secretly adore.

_Mistake? _The word struck a chord somewhere Lovino knew all too well. Why had he thought this was going to be any different from anything else in his life? He was a mistake. Everything about him, his very soul ordained forever a mistake. His jaw locked, eyes brimming with bitter tears. Why were his words having such unprecedented effect on him? Antonio had cut him down to nothing, something nobody had ever done before. So, why Antonio? Why now? These were the questions that fueled the ache now resonating in his prideful chest.

"You're just a kid." Antonio was throwing salt in his wound now. Lovino gritted his teeth and stifled any rage that bubbled up his throat. He could throw choice words this man's way, accompanied by fists and perhaps a well placed shoe if he wanted. He could, but he wouldn't. He couldn't let this man see him as upset as he truly was. He wouldn't let Antonio see any farther into that fragile, precious, fluttering soul of his. He clutched his fists to tightly he thought he may break his own hand. _How stupid was I?_

"I am no child. I don't hide behind a false pretense and lie like you!" he snapped. His voice tinged with ice and laced with poisonous anger. He truly hated this man, down to his very core. His hands were no longer tight fists, but flying ninety to nothing to better emphasize his rage. It was a nasty habit of his, speaking with his hands.

Antonio sighed, an unnatural frown displayed on his lips, his eyes deserted of all spark.

"Mistake. " Antonio paced, muttering phrases and things Lovino had never even dreamed about. Lovino's breaths became shallow and rapid. Again with the _mistake._ He made his way towards the door, gripping the knob as tightly as he possibly could. He wasn't staying in this room another minute. He wasn't wasting another second of his small life on this man. He would never be looked down upon by another set of eyes. Ever. He had promised himself that when he left all those years ago. He swung the door only to have it shut back in his face. He turned with a widened gaze. Antonio was upon him yet again, a palm pressed against the stained oak door.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Lovino asked, shoving him away. It took everything he had not to add another bruise to that perfect face of his. Antonio simply knocked his hands away. He was leagues stronger than Lovino, much stouter built and worked. He had Lovino against the door in an instant, pressing him with every pound of weight he possessed.

"I don't want to hurt you, Lovino.." Antonio trailed, abandoning all attempts to speak proper Italian. His voice was musky and harsh, filled with troubles Lovino couldn't fathom. It took the young Italian by surprise, but he rebounded quickly.

" You wouldn't be able to scratch me bastard." He said with a snort. And there it was, that same grin that Lovino had become accustomed to. It was relieving and frightening at the same time. How could he smile now? It only disgusted Lovino further. But he couldn't fight him. Not this close.

"No, not _hurt you_ hurt you. I don't want to hurt you.." he pointed a finger at Lovino's chest, his eyes finally finding the courage to look into Lovino's territory. "..here." he finished. Had he figured him out? Had he decided it wasn't just this blatant anger that had ensnared Lovino's thoughts but the prospect of real _love_? _Love._ What an absurd thing. Lovino didn't believe in such things. But still, the feeling of the weight of this man's finger over his heart was equal to only what the weight of the world felt like. Lovino was now atlas, balancing the globe upon his shoulders. He could feel the sweat roll down his back, treading down his spine. He had lost every shred of thought he had possessed. This man didn't want to hurt him? As if he thought he could? Who did he think he was?

"W-Who the hell are you?" his voice was so heavy and thick with question it surprised even himself. But it indeed was a necessary question. Antonio shook his head, his eyes looking away, far beyond Lovino, far beyond even this room, opera house or Italy. He looked Lovino dead in the eyes, their emerald glitter busy on some unknown battlefront.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

It was silent, still, stagnant. The air was thick with malice. Antonio had slipped down the wall, his elbows now resting over his knees. He twisted his cap between his hands, his lips once again pursed into a fragile thin line. Lovino had followed suit, casually sliding down beside him, pounding his head against the door. His legs sprawled out before him and his hands were loosely strewn in his lap. He was only comforted by the rhythmic beating of his head against the solid oak door.

"I was twenty-one.." Lovino's head stopped just before it made contact, and instead gently rested against the wood. He listened intently.

"I was twenty-one.." Antonio continued in that rugged Italian of his, " living with my family in a small village outside of Madrid. We were farmers, leading simple lives. We had what we needed, and were happy." The side of his lips drew up in a smile. "It was my mother, father, Maria,and me. Maria was my younger sister; she would have been around your age. _Would have been. _A knot found itself lodged in Lovino's throat. He could feel Antonio's eyes on him, but kept his gaze to the ceiling.

"She married a few months before, even expecting a kid. Although,to me she was still just a kid herself. They still lived with us. Life was so wonderful.." He laughed a little forcefully. His hand trailed to the back of his neck, rubbing over it as if to soothe himself from monsters he never quite conquered.

"You would have loved her! She used to make me so mad and then bring me candy or something to make up for it. She was a good girl.." His demeanor changed suddenly, his eyes trailing back to scrutinize the wood-grain on the paneled floors. Lovino shifted to look at him from the corners of his eyes. He could see the man's shoulders sagging, twitching slightly with every short breath he made.

"But , one day..I was out in the fields. I was working, you know, checking the harvest. Then I heard screaming and there was smoke. A lot of smoke. And gunfire. So much gunfire. " his voice hitched only a few times before continuing.

"I didn't even run to them, I hid away in the field until I couldn't hear them screaming anymore." He laughed in a throaty manner, taking large gulps to compose himself. "I must have been there for almost an hour..."

Lovino had been squeezing his hand so hard his knuckles were white. He swallowed, feeling the anguish fall from Antonio in waves. He gripped the fabric of his trousers in his fists. He didn't like seeing Antonio this way. He didn't want him to know struggle. He didn't want him to know pain. As much as Lovino hated him, he wished he could do something to help him. But he didn't know how. He could hardly fight his own demons, how and the hell would he help Antonio fight his? He simply listened uncomfortably, stifling coughs as not to interrupt.

"I ran there, when it fell silent. The soldiers had gone by then. There was nothing left by the time I reached it, just a smoldering pile of ash. A funeral pyre I guess." He chuckled. He drew his knees closer into his chest. "I lost everything. They locked them inside and set our small cottage on fire. And for what? We were worth nothing but the dirt on our hands and the sweat on our backs. All they took was the horse and whatever dried goods my mother kept. I lost everything for that."

Lovino knew. He read it all over the Spaniards face. It had been no secret what had transpired in Spain during their civil war. Brother against brother. Italy and Germany had joined the Nationalists naturally. The "Reds" were left in the unqualified hands of farmers, peasants, and boys. Boys hardly old enough to marry. They were bombed, they were raided, and they were made to bleed for a country both sides were fighting for. Some had experienced the war more than others. That had been made clear by Antonio.

Lovino couldn't even fathom it. He couldn't wrap his mind around the concept of losing everything. He had though, in a way, left a loving family and stable home. _No._ He hadn't. _This was different._ They were still alive, a post-carrier or car's ride away. He still lived in a world where they existed, where they were breathing the same air, looking at the same sky. Antonio was not. Antonio was horribly, ultimately, definitely alone. That disturbed Lovino more than he wanted to admit. That someone so cheerful and full of life could have been through crucibles that Lovino wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy. It left him trapped inside some black void he didn't recognize, some inescapable feeling of absolute failure. He didn't know how to help him. But he desperately wanted to.

There was a suffocating silence between the two. A mutual unspoken understanding flowing invisibly between them. He was lost in the translation of emotion. Lovino looked at the man, puzzled. He had no earthly idea how to even begin comforting him, so he asked the first question that came to his mind.

"Why are you telling me all this?" he grilled. His hands found their way to his tie, pulling it loose from the collar of his shirt. He grew tired of it all. Of these emotions of this man's games, of the stuffy suit and ties, everything. All he wanted was a life worth living. And this sulking man beside him had turned his whole world upside down.

"So you will trust me." Antonio lethargic in his reply, leagues away from the quick Spanish tongue he had before. Lovino hadn't attempted to drag the answer from him, but he felt he was entitled enough to receive one. After tonight, this man deserved nothing less than Lovino's knuckles against his jaw. Antonio knew that too. He continued to twist the tweed cap in his fists. Was he that nervous?

"What the he-"The Spaniard had a habit of cutting Lovino off.

"Have you ever seen an open flame and wanted to throw yourself into it?" Lovino was aghast; his mouth mumbling something the ear could not comprehend. His eyes followed Antonio's emerald gaze and found themselves resting upon a small, stuttering candle-wick, completely engulfed in its small ember. He was so entranced, bewitched by the flickering wisp across the room. It's orange bloom mirrored in his foggy windows.

"I worked in a steel mill after I left Spain, an odd job. I needed cash in my pocket. I tried to keep my hands busy, but that didn't keep my mind from wandering." He tapped on his temple. "It may have been my second month there, I don't remember, but I burned myself on a hot iron. Have you ever been burned, Lovino?" he may have asked him, but that was the same as asking a wall. There was no movement between the two, no acknowledgement a question had even been asked.

"They say its the worse pain in the world. It's the sound that gets to you first, the bubbling, crackling, melting of your own skin. Then the smell, your hair being singed straight off your scalp. "Lovino ran a hand through his hair, holding a piece between his fingers. His eyes hanging against every word in gruesome wonder.

"And then, you don't feel anything. You're numb."

"I helped pour molten metal. I stood over that vat of blazing hot steel and all at once had the urge to jump into it. It was odd. I didn't have a death wish, but there it was, prickling the back of neck and urging me to simply step off the platform. That's all it would have taken, five seconds before I wouldn't feel anything anymore, a simple step. "

"I didn't do it obviously." He mused, chuckling slightly, a glimmer of his old self sparkling through the layer of malice. "But I could have, and that's what scared me. I was capable, maybe a little willing even. I don't know. But to have that kind of power, its terrifying." He sighed. Leaning his head against the door in the same fashion Lovino had, closing his eyes for only a moment to breathe.

"Now I realize that burns are like grief, it hurts like hell at first. If you hold the iron to your skin, you will eventually become numb, and feel nothing. No happiness, no sadness, no anger or even love." His emerald eyes found Lovino's own, swimming in waves of thought. "You have to accept the hurt, let go of the iron, and heal. You will hurt longer; the pain will be more intense. You may even have scars, but you will go on. You will live again, and that's all that matters."

Antonio flexed slightly, and that's when Lovino noticed the slightly raised discolored mark, perfectly straight, across the width of his forearm. He lightly shook his head, letting his hands fall once again to the confines of his lap.

"I still don't know why you're telling me all this." He sighed, his shoulders relaxing against the door, a pout on his mug.

"I told you, so you'll trust me."

"You think I don't trust you? I let you drag me down here!" he snapped back. And Antonio laughed, his genuine, hearty, incredible room warming laugh. It was good to hear it again, even if it did somewhat irritate the Italian.

"For all I know you could have brought me down here to murder me." Lovino teased.

"Maybe that was the plan." Antonio equally jested, a mockingly grave look on his face. He was recompensed with a well-placed jab to his ribs, he should know better than to tease Lovino in such close confines. Antonio fell to his side, writhing, arms cradling around his stomach to hold in his laughter, he was toying with Lovino, giving him what he wanted. Lovino simply rolled his eyes.

"Bastard! That's not funny!" he scolded him.

"Ow! Lovino!" He still dragged the "o" in his name with that horrible Italian of his, but it wasn't as harsh to Lovino's ear as before. He was starting to like the way it sounded. What was this man doing to him? He turned his head to look at the man rolling on the floor, in fake pain, simply trying to entertain Lovino. After everything Antonio had said, after he had poured such troubling secrets and past experiences out for Lovino to see, _he_ was trying to cheer _him_ up? He felt the need to try and make Lovino happy again? _What is wrong with him?_

Lovino nudged him with his shoe, attempting to get his attention. He stifled a swallow when all at once he felt the full weight of this man's presence upon him. Those emerald eyes set on high beam.

"You still never answered my question." Lovino shook his head.

Antonio rolled to his side, propping his head on the palm of his hand, his elbow bearing the weight. A smug grin painted on his face.

"You're not going to tell me are you?" Lovino said with a sigh. Antonio shook his head.

"I can't, not now. "

That tore it. Lovino got up hastily, scrambling for the door knob a second time. He didn't hear Antonio move behind him, suspecting he wouldn't stop him this go around. He swung the door open wide, threatening to slam it against the wall, the realizing what time of night it must have been, he did it with ease. He took several steps, before the soft cooing of that deep voice called him to stop.

"All I can tell you is things are happening, changing. Be ready for them…"

And that was all. Lovino rolled his eyes, not giving a backwards glance to his Spanish problem. But he still felt those eyes on him, boring holes through his back all the way to the end of the corridor. He ascended the stairs, opening the door at the top. He paused only momentarily, letting the weight of his words soak in.

_Things were changing._

This time he did slam the door with a thick, reverberating, thud.

Antonio sighed, falling flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He too, was letting everything that had transpired seep in. He had never shared so much, never let his hoax be seen through. He had wanted to give so much more, but who was we to let the hopes of thousands and lives of millions more ride on the feeling of just one man?

A smile perched itself on his lips, the light from the candle fading as the wick was coming to the end of its life.

"I'm in trouble."

It sputtered for moments, before the faint smell of smoke encased the small room. It was dark, and Antonio basked in the solitude, although, his thoughts relished in the prospect of a certain Italian's company.


End file.
